


a little death, a little tenderness

by darkavenger



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel
Genre: Asexual Character, Character Study, Dubious Consent, Internalized Acephobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9072124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkavenger/pseuds/darkavenger





	

Daken lets the human paw at him and tries to turn his sneer into a smile.

He must be losing his touch.

"What's wrong?" His current plaything sits up, dark hair falling over bare shoulders. She tilts her head, concern too easily visible in the warmth of her brown eyes, sheet sliding down, revealing full breasts. She seems unconscious of her nakedness, of her vulnerability.

Daken runs a hand down the smooth, warm skin of her arm, admiring how soft, how smooth it feels against his own. How easy to tear apart. "Nothing, pet."

The endearment softens her further, full lips parting a little. A pink tongue tip darts out to wetten them. "Good. So you want to...?"

If Daken had a normal set of responses, he'd probably find this appealing. The sensualist in him can appreciate aspects of this situation. The soft curves of her breasts and waist and stomach, the contrast of her black skin against the white sheets, her unselfconscious ease in her own body. Aesthetically, the sight is pleasing, but it excites nothing in him.

"I don't want," he responds, still stroking the skin of her forearm.

He can feel the quiver that runs through her body at the words. He's hurt her feelings. _I don't want you_ , is what she's heard.

"I don't understand," she says, and yes, there's the hurt. "You wanted me earlier."

"No, I didn't." He considers explaining for a fraction of a second but decides against it. It probably wouldn't make her feel better to know she's part of an experiment he's been conducting.

That full bottom lip trembles. Warm brown eyes glisten. "But..."

He smiles at her warmly, reaching out to cup her cheek. "It's okay." He ignores her confusion, leans in to kiss her. "It doesn't matter."

Still confused, she lets him kiss her. Gradually, he feels the tension leave her body. She sighs against his lips as he eases her back into the mattress. He breaks away slowly, gently. Her breathing is even, her expression dazed from the pheromones he'd dosed her with while kissing her.

She doesn't try to stop him as he moves away, off the bed. "See? It doesn't matter."

This is sex as a performance, and his body never fails to follow a cue. 

Her drugged gaze follows him as he undresses, but there's nothing accusatory in her gaze, just the placid interest of the utterly stoned.

He unbuttons his shirt, enjoying the sensation of silk against sweat dampened skin. His suit is Armani, his shoes the finest leather.

Daken lets his clothes fall to the floor.

If he can't make love, he can at least make art.

 


End file.
